


Cat and Mousetrap

by SatisfactionBroughtItBack42



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Absolutely none of this is healthy and that's the point, Breathplay, But there's only one bedroll (GASP), Canon Divergence, Curious methods of keeping warm, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort kind of???? Lots of hurt but questionable comfort at best, Injury, Inncorrect usage of DnD spells and mechanics purely for Plot Reasons, Lucien is Questionable at best folks, Lucien is an evil bastard man and thus acts like an evil bastard man at times, Morally dubious invasions of privacy on both ends, Once again I am here for absolute rarepair Jester ships content no one asked for, Past Jester Lavorre/Mollymauk Tealeaf, Redepmtion Arc (Sort of), Some truly maladaptive coping mechanisms and lack thereof, Sort of Kind of But Not Really Though Jester Lavorre/Mollymauk Tealeaf, Under-negotiated Kink, rating will likely go up, this gets dark folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatisfactionBroughtItBack42/pseuds/SatisfactionBroughtItBack42
Summary: After the revelations and events that transpired on the first day at Eislecross, Jester attempts to unpack all of the complicated feelings Lucien evokes, unintentionally sparking a dangerous interest from the mysterious Tiefling who always seems one step ahead of her.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Lucien
Comments: 24
Kudos: 65





	1. In Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, folks! That last episode made me have some Thoughts, one of them being Jester/Lucien (What ship name do we call this, folks? Jesscien? Luster? I Kind of like Luster, personally). I know that Magic, Pastries, and Jester Lavorre needs an update, and I'm currently working on the next chapter! This just sparked my imagination so much that I couldn't help but write it out. I do plan on this having multiple chapters, but probably not being anywhere near as long as my other fic. But, in the meantime, enjoy some rarepair content with me! Validate my weird taste in ships lol.

The first day of travel in Eislecross was exhausting and brutal on the body - but the wear and tear on the mind, on Jester’s mind, knowing that they carried the murdered corpse of Lady Vess Derogna with them preyed heavily on Jester psyche - even more so knowing she had Scried on Lucien right after the violent deed was done - right under their noses, right under  _ her _ nose… and all by a man who haunts Molly body, the ghost of a man who resides in the vessel of her friend, her dear,  _ dear _ friend - it’s all too much for Jester to bear. The guilt of it all is so immense -  _ “I have to thank ya, because without  _ **_your scent_ ** _ I wouldn’t have been able to follow her” - My scent,  _ **_my scent_ ** _ \- it’s my fault, it’s my fault she’s dead, myfaultmyfaultmyfault -  _

Jester slams the door to her room in Caleb’s tower shut with a resounding  _ Slam! _ She stomps her way through the little sitting room with the books she can’t read, through her art studio will walls she hasn’t had time to fill, and halfway to her bed her stomping becomes less stomp and more staggering, the tears beginning to flow freely down her cheeks and she lets out a frustrated, cathartic  _ wail _ , collapsing on her bed, sobs beginning to wrack her small frame. Unable to hold it all in, she pours her tears onto her pillow case, so angry at herself and the situation, yet so mournful at the loss of her friend, and the complicated at best feelings it evokes seeing the visage of her friend she never truly got to say goodbye to become their enemy, and lets out a guttural scream into her pillow, emptying herself of it all. 

After a good ten minutes of letting all of the primal emotions out of her, Jester lies there in her bed, her pillowcase now uncomfortably damp, her cheeks wet, as she basks in the afterglow of the first real intense cry she’s allowed herself since knowing the Nein. Her mind feels soft, marshmallowy in texture, and she revels in the calm after the storm, the clarity she feels as the tears begin to fall quietly now. But while her mind may be blissfully fuzzy in the haze post-cry, the solution to all of it seems so clear.  _ He knows ‘my scent’ - he knows about me. He’s tracking me. There’s no surprising him physically - what do I have to lose my Messaging him? He’ll probably lie, I know he’ll lie - but it’ll throw him off his own game. And… who knows? Maybe there’s still some Molly left in him.  _

Her mind made up, Jester casts Sending. 

_ “Mollymauk? … Lucien? … Who are you?... Do you know who I am? … ‘My scent’, huh?... Do I smell bad? Good? How long ya been smelling me?”  _

To say Lucien is caught off guard is an understatement. In the middle of pouring over the texts he collected from Derogna by dim firelight in the frigid belly of a cave, Cree asleep by his at his feet, to hear the voice of a stranger, yet the voice of friend - the false memories of a life not his own all come flashing back to him in an instant, the lilting, birdsong-like warble of the Nicodranian accent fills his mind, and the memories woman he - but not him - once knew flood through him all at once.  _ Jester Lavorre, little blue tiefling girl - friend - but not mine.  _ He finds that there’s still that instant feeling of fondness, the recollections of a past life not entirely his own, and he’s surprised at the strength of the softness he finds himself feeling -  _ But that’s not me -  _ **_I_ ** _ , don’t feel this - no, no - the work of my previous false owner.  _

_ “Mollymauk is dead.”  _ He responds matter of factually.  _ “I know who you are,  _ **_Jester Lavorre_ ** _. You smell  _ **_delicious_ ** _.”  _

A flush colors Jester’s cheeks, almost against her will, as his words stir something deep within her that she never really gave much thought to before -  _ Delicious… _ His strange accent, the way his voice got so low, so dark, almost  _ predatory _ … she doesn’t want to admit that it does something to her, that it plucks the strings of interest within her belly, and certainly doesn’t want to admit the instant shock wave of adrenaline it sends through her, causing her heart to beat rapidly against her chest, every nerve in my body almost seeming to vibrate at attention. There’s a fine line between the searing burn of fear and the explosive burst of  _ excitement _ it all brings her - the two become so muddled in the moment that it’s hard to differentiate between the two -  _ Or are they just the same? _

_ Delicious…  _ **_delicious_ ** _ … what does that even mean? What does that mean to him? He still didn’t tell me how long he’s been tracking me… maybe… maybe, if I just push a little bit more, he’ll relent? Maybe I can get him to do it? _

Jester gathers her resolve, wiping her eyes from her last wayward tears, and casts Sending one more time. “ _ How do you know who I am? Did Cree tell you about me?”  _ Her breath gets caught in her throat for a moment, becoming shaky and tense as she tries to will herself to sound strong. She clears her throat, before continuing. “ _... Do you remember me? … Do you remember anything from before… as Molly?” _

He should feel annoyed at this repeated interruption in his work, and yet…  _ It’s almost a little endearing - pitiful, almost - she misses her friend, that weakling who died to save her… her breath, it’s uneven - she’s been crying. _ He feels an impulse, an impulse to feel  _ sympathy _ , and impulse he  _ knows _ isn’t his own,  _ knows _ is just a remnants of a bygone era - yet this tug, this tugging at his own nonexistent heartstrings is still there all the same - he can imagine it, in another life, as another man, drying those tears and drawing her in for a  _ hug _ , something so unlike him, but so like who he once was -  _ But not  _ **_me_ ** _ , not  _ **_me_ ** . But the urge doesn’t diminish, all the same. 

He places the papers in his lap, running his hands through the few errant locks of his darker purple hair that has slipped out from under the thick fur lining of his hood, and smirks slightly, staring into the crackling fire. “I remember everything.” He admits, a little unsure as to why exactly he’s telling the truth right now. “I just wasn’t the man you knew. But I was there. Watching. Waiting. But I remember you, Jester - I remember you.”

Jester doesn’t know if she wants to cry all over again, or if this is cause enough to stop her tears entirely -  _ Molly’s not  _ **_gone_ ** _ , then - Molly’s still in there, he still lives in there, in his memory - this is good, isn’t it? It has to be - we can use this, we can appeal to this, maybe we can try to get him to be our friend again, right? He remembers me, he remembers us - he can’t  _ **_hate_ ** _ us, can he? What if he feels… what if he still feels… kinship for us? For me?... He has to. He has to feel  _ **_something_ ** _ , it can’t - he can’t be an empty husk. Molly’s love had to have rubbed off on him, it has to have! He can’t just feel…  _ **_nothing_ ** _ … no. He remembers. He hasn’t forgotten. This is how we can get him to turn. This is how he can be redeemed - if he  _ **_can_ ** _ be redeemed.  _

Jester casts Sending again. “Then you remember how we were friends, right? How kind you once were?... You can be that again, you know?... We can still be friends!” 

Lucien sits with her words for a long moment, genuinely caught off guard by her offering of the olive branch at a time like this, after what he’s done.  _ She… she can’t be serious. She can’t actually…  _ **_want_ ** _ that, want my…  _ **_friendship_ ** _ \- this is a ploy, it has to be - this is an angle. It’s just an angle of hers. Nothing more.  _ But still, he cannot help the wry smile that spreads across his features at the concept, at her boldness in even asking, and at… the unexplained and surprising angle she’s going at.  _ “You want my friendship, do you?”  _ He lets out a soft chuckle.  _ “You were always so unfailingly kind, Jester… it’s endearing - but a lie all the same. I’m no longer  _ **_kind_ ** _. _ ” 

That same strange mix of fear and arousal blossoms once more deep within her  _ Endearing, endearing - he thinks I’m endearing…  _ She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to feel, but she knows that she shouldn’t feel so deliciously on edge, on the verge of something, something she doesn’t even know she’s chasing - but his  _ voice _ , his  _ voice _ , the almost musical accent to it, and the low, dark, shadowy tone to it… it  _ does _ things ot her, and she knows it shouldn’t, and that she’s dealing with abject evil here, dancing with devils as she continues to speak to him, but - _ No, no, I can’t leave it there. No - he needs to know that it’s not  _ **_all_ ** _ lies… there is a chance! There’s a chance still! He  _ **_can_ ** _ be turned, I know he can - if there’s still Molly in there, even in just memory, there’s a chance.  _

“ _ But you  _ **_can_ ** _ be kind - if you wanted to. Do you remember what it felt like to have friends? To have kindness in your heart?”  _

Lucien’s nostrils flare slightly, as his knuckles tense into taught fists.  _ ‘Kindness in my heart’ - it’s childish. Laughably so. But… why does it… why does  _ **_she_ ** _ … _ He can’t explain it, can’t rationalize it away, why, in the twisted depths of his crooked heart, there’s this unnatural pang of…  _ yearning -  _ this want so alien from his own sense of self - a want, a desire for what she speaks of -  _ Friends, goodness, kindness in my heart - it’s not  _ **_me_ ** _ , not  _ **_mine_ ** _ , this is not of my own making - it’s him, this infuriating,  _ **_stupid_ ** _ Mollymauk - that utter  _ **_fool_ ** _ , and his foolish want and desires - no. I don’t want this. I  _ **_don’t_ ** _ want this.  _

_ …  _

_ But… what if…  _ Lucien snarls, greatly disliking the probing questions Jester asks of him. He bundles himself further into his coat, moving closer to the fire.  _ “You were always such a romantic, dear - I’m sorry to disappoint.”  _ He replies in his typical darkly sardonic and teasing fashion. “ _ Why does it matter to you what’s in my heart? Jealous, perhaps?”  _

Jester can feel her blood boil within her once more.  **_Jealous?!_ ** _ This dick, this utter dick, trying to frame it as  _ **_jealously_ ** _ \- Gods above, I’m genuinely just trying to help this asshole!  _

Jester takes a few deep breaths, kneading her knuckles through the downy plushness of her comforter to ease the tension in her upper body. After a moment to collect herself, she casts Sending one more time. “ _ Not jealous, sorry to disappoint.”  _ Jester does her best to sound aloof and above him, even if it comes off a little preformative in the process. “ _ Though I am a romantic - and I do think letting kindness into your heart will only ever help you.”  _

Lucien can’t help but laugh slightly at her reductionist view, a shaded chuckle passing through his lips.  _ “Oh, Jester - if only things were that simple.” _ He tucks the papers away, holding them close to his chest, and lies down, facing the fire. He looks into the crackling flame, attempting to lull himself into sleep - “ _ Pleasant dreams, love.”  _ He smiles, a plan slowly forming in his mind. 

It gives Jester pause, his final words - she hesitates for a moment, a cold chill running down her spine, coupled with the almost shameful wave of arousal it evokes within her - she freezes, momentarily blindsided -  _ What does  _ **_that_ ** _ mean? And why did he have to say it like  _ **_that_ ** _ \- all mysterious and sexy?  _ Her hands ball up into taught fists, her breath becoming shaky.  _ I’m paranoid, I’m just paranoid - he’s trying to psyche me out. He’s just trying to fuck with me, and get in my head. Well, it’s not going to work! Nope! Not me, not today.  _

_ Fuck you, Lucien. And goodnight. _


	2. Once Upon a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello there - whelp, the inspiration is striking hot for this fic, and the pen is just flowing, so here's another chapter! Have fun folks!

Jester’s vision is cloudy, murky for a moment, like being slowly roused from a long, deep sleep, before being greeted with an endless expanse of grey sky, soft, white flakes of gently falling snow dusting across her cheeks. It’s quiet, so quiet, almost overwhelmingly so, save for the sound of crunching snow - slowly, she gets up from her prone position, and looks around her - an endless sea of snow greets her, a vast, rolling expanse of winter as far of the eye can see. _Where am I?... Did I pass out?_ She turns to look behind her, and finds herself in the perfect imprint of a snow angel beneath her. _Did I do this?_ _I don’t remember…_

To her right, she hears the only source of sound available for miles - this soft, rhythmic crunching sound of snow being compacted. She turns to look at the source, and finds a familiar lavender Tiefling, wearing a thick winter coat, double scimitars holstered at his hips, building a snowman. “ _ Jester, _ ” He smirks at her. “so glad you could make it, love.” 

Jester cocks her head his way. “ _ Molly?” _

He stops his building, momentarily frozen in place by the power of the name. Jester  _ swears _ she can see the whispers of scowl grace handsome features, before the signature sly grin returns.  _ “Sure _ . Mollymauk.” 

“What are you doing here? And where  _ is _ here, actually?” 

“Don’t worry yourself about those questions, doll - I’m  _ here,  _ that’s all that matters now, isn’t it?” He walks over to where she sits in the snow angel, and extends his gloved hand out to her. “Come now - I’m almost finished building this snowman. Do you want to help?” 

Jester looks towards the hand extended out to her, and takes it, a hint of caution in her movements, but a smile spreading on her face nonetheless. Molly pulls her up with surprising strength and grace, causing her to come nearly chest to chest to one another, their fogged breath ghosting across the other’s face. Jester can feel a blush spread across her features, her heart rate picking up at the proximity, feeling the radiating warmth of his close body give her shivers of a different kind. 

Still holding her hand, Molly leads her to the half constructed snowman, and the two begin to build in peace. “Did you get the chance to make many of these back in Nicodranas?” Molly asks her, slowly packing snow. 

“Not at  _ all _ \- I mean, I love Nicodranas, and it’s my home, but it’s so  _ hot _ \- the first time I had ever seen snow was when we were in the Empire, actually! But I would always read about it in books, you know? There was this one Winter’s Crest themed smut book I stole from my Mama, actually - oh, ages ago, really, but it was one of my favorites growing up! Very steamy scenes - you know, the basic ‘oh no, we’re stuck in this isolated wilderness, and it’s winter and it’s so cold, we must have to use our  _ body heat _ and all to stay warm’ - basic premise, but still,  _ suuuuuuper _ effective payoff, let me tell you! This one scene, it - actually, never mind. Anyways, they built a snowman in the story, and it always captured by fascination. Because, it’s art, it’s sculpting, you know? And anyone can do it - it’s art that anyone can participate in, anyone can feel joy in creating, and it’s out in public, it’s performance art, really - or at least it can be. Maybe it isn’t, but that’s always how I thought it was - or that it would be. And it’s art that’s impermanent - it’ll be gone one day, melted away into nothingness, no marker of where it once stood… I dunno. I just think that… I dunno, maybe I’ve read too much into things - I guess I’m prone to romanticizing things.” Jester rambles on, her expression turning soft and reminiscent.

Molly studies her, and studies her shift in expression -  _ She’s so… layered - oddly complex. _ “Well, you are a romantic.” 

“I’ve been told that a few times.” Jester smiles. 

“What was that scene?” Molly asks her, moving closer to where she stands next to the snowman. 

“Huh?” 

“That scene - from that book you were talking about. The one you really liked.” 

For a moment, Jester can’t tell if Molly is genuinely curious, or if there’s some sort of ulterior motive towards his curiosity - but a blush meets her cheeks all the same, as she bites her lip, her right fang dragging across the plush expanse of her bottom lip, before she meets Molly playful gaze, and she giggles slightly. “ _ Wellllllll  _ \- it’s this story about two people, kind of rivals at the local Mages’ college or whatever, I don’t really remember - but it’s this Tiefling man, and this half elf girl, and the man is a winged tiefling, and has these red, leathery bat wings, you know? But sexy?  _ Anyways _ \- they get stranded out in the middle of the Cliffkeep Mountains in Tal'dorei, on Winter’s Crest Eve, and they find this abandoned little cabin, and hole up in there - and after another one of their  _ steamy _ and really, like, you know,  _ charged _ fights, you know, the girl leaves the cabin to blow off some steam, you know - and she starts to build a snowman. And, eventually, the love interest comes over to her and helps her make it. And they begin to talk, and all… and eventually, they just end up so close, and you know, just start making out and all - and then they fuck in the snow. But it was  _ really _ hot - you have to believe me, Molly - it’s just the  _ perfect _ balance of roughness and softness! He was, like,  _ rough _ with her, you know, but he was kind about it - and the dirty talk…  _ fuck _ , Molly - I wish I still had a copy of it sometimes.” 

Jester almost hadn’t realized just how close Molly had gotten to her before his face was almost right next to hers - suddenly she felt breathless, a little unnerved at just how quickly and soundlessly he had crept up on her. There’s an intense look in his solid red eyes, a look of determination, like he has a plan - but yet, just the whisper of his trademark mirth and enjoyment in his gaze, a coy smirk grace his face. “ _ Is that you want, Jester?”  _ His voice is low, almost a mere rumble in his chest, but dripping with barely restrained eroticism. He brushes an errant strand of hair behind her ears, his fingers lingering, ever-so-slightly ghosting over her neck, causing her breath to catch in her throat, warmth unlike she’s ever known spreading throughout her her chest, and down, down,  _ down - _ but she stays still, stock still, almost not processing at all. “ _ Do you want the roughness?”  _ His hand dives in further, slowly, deftly, gripping the base of her neck, as he bends down further, his nose almost brushing against her own, his thumb and forefingers spread against the column of her throat, and  _ ever  _ so slightly applying the lightest of pressure to the sides. “ _ Do you want me to be rough with you?”  _ Looking her dead in the eyes, he gradually increases the pressure, and she lets out the most  _ heavenly _ keening whine, rumbling his hand around her neck in the process - “But  _ softly _ -” He drops the pressure on her throat, causing her to let out a strangled gasp, “- you love the contradiction, don’t you? The contrast? That’s what does it for you, doesn’t it?” His voice is so quiet, she would hardly be able to hear it where they not so close - so controlled and even, yet wild in its implications - and she can’t remember the last time she’s been  _ this _ aroused. 

“ _ Molly…” _ She lets out a soft whimper, her eyes darting directly towards the pair of lips right in front her, unable to keep the intensity of his heated gaze. 

Molly pauses, processing something Jester doesn’t truly understand, before chuckling softly. His other hand goes to grasp her shoulder, as he plants a soft, yet bruising kiss to her forehead, holding her there for a long moment.  _ “That’s _ what you want.” 

He pulls back from her, smiling slightly forlorn for a moment, brushing her bangs back to their undisturbed state. “This is been  _ delightful _ , Lavorre - let’s do it again, shall we?” He  **_snaps_ ** his fingers, and the world goes dark in an instant. 


	3. The Mission at Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai there! Yes, it's me, updating this fic before my other - but I'm still working on it, don't worry! Writers block can be a bitch at times. In the meantime, enjoy a more plot-heavy chapter! I'm glad to know that other people like this ship, and are on board with my bullshit lol. So, enjoy! Have fun, and stay a while!

Jester bolts up from her bed, awaking with a gasp on her lips, and her nightgown and sheets drenched in sweat. Her breath is heavy, labored, and panting as she rights herself.  _ Fuck… what  _ **_was_ ** _ that?  _ Her hands go to her throat, where she can feel the lingering echoes of hands that aren’t her own, the mere thought of it causing a new wave of reluctant excitement course through her -  _ It’s just a dream. It was just a dream. _ Jester goes to move her legs, and finds them sticky and wet with her own arousal -  _ Why am I so…  _ **_horny_ ** _ right now? Was that a wet dream? But there was no sex in it! What the fuck… why… what - and with Molly too?  _ The thought of her departed friend dampens the mood, a reminder of a time long gone, back when things seemed so simple, back when flights of fancy seemed reasonable, and when her casual attraction to her Tiefling friend brought nothing but bliss to her, instead of the aftershocks of grief it causes her now. 

Jester takes a deep breath, attempting to ground herself back to the present moment, and not caught up in the past.  _ It felt so…  _ **_real_ ** _. Everything, it was so…  _ **_visceral_ ** _. I could feel it, I could feel his hands, and how they -  _ Jester blushes at the thought of how his strong hands seemed to wrap so deliciously perfectly around the column of her throat, and how  _ strong _ yet  _ gentle _ they felt as he held her there -  _ Ohmygods - do I have a choking kink?! _ Jester panics a little at this realization, slightly unnerved by the thought of it, and by the fact that something like that even  _ could _ turn her on like this.  _ Okayokayokayokay - there’s nothing  _ **_wrong_ ** _ with a choking kink and all, no kink-shaming, especially not to yourself - but I’ve never… I never really thought about that? About having that done to me? And about  _ **_liking_ ** _ it so much? _

_ Waitwaitwaitwaitwait - hold on, I’m focusing on the wrong thing here!  _

__ _ That can’t be - that couldn’t have just been a regular dream. It couldn’t have - it was so… lifelike. I’ve never had dreams like that before! It was like I was awake, was alive - ah, fuck, this is so confusing!  _

__ _ …  _

__ **_LUCIEN._ ** __

__ Jester feels her temper flare deep within her, the pieces of the puzzle crystallizing together in a horrific moment of tempestuous clarity, causing her to dive back into her pillow and let out a muffled scream of fiery anguish into its downy surface. 

_ That  _ **_MOTHERFUCKER_ ** _!!!  _

Jester’s blood is all a boil, seething at the audacity and  _ gaul _ of this man -  _ How dare he??!?  _

__ Acting on sheer impulse, Jester casts Sending. “ _ You fucking  _ **_pervert_ ** _! Do you have no shame? Stay out of my  _ **_dreams_ ** _ , you sicko - I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again!” _

Lucien, himself just on the verge of heading out of the cave Cree and he found shelter in last night, laughs outright, causing Cree’s ears to perk up at the loud, raucous sound. “ **_Pervert_ ** _ , now? I did nothing you didn’t want, love. Our tastes seem to align, dear - I look forward to making those dreams a reality, sweetheart.”  _

Jester viscerally snarls at the evident smirk in his tone, her hands balling into taught fists. She takes a deep breath, straightening her spine.  _ I won’t let this  _ **_fucker_ ** _ get under my skin. No.  _ **_No_ ** _. Fuck you, Lucien.  _

Jester gets dressed for the day, heading down to the dining room, Mittens the cat in her arms, as she strokes his fur to ease her own stewing anxiety and fuming anger. 

The rest of the Nein sit eating breakfast as she stomps in, huffing as she takes her seat. 

Beau looks at her curiously. “Everything alright there, Jess?” 

“I’m  _ fine.”  _ Jester insists, slumping in her chair. 

Caleb looks at her cautiously over his morning cup of tea. “Are you sure?” 

Jester huffs. “ _ Yes,  _ I’m sure!” She spits out, a little bit more venomously than she truly meant to. 

“Okay, it’s just - you seem a bit… tense.” He looks at her sympathetically. “But, if you’re fine, then no matter.”

Jester nods quietly, scritching Mittens behind the ears as she grabs a bearclaw off the table and scarfs it down hungrily.  _ They’ll be mad if you tell them. They won’t understand.  _ Jester stares aimlessly at the table, munching quietly on her pastry.  _ They’ll just say you were reckless… I can’t tell them. No, they won’t get it.  _

__ _ But… _ Jester looks towards Caleb, who still looks across the table towards her, concern in his eyes.  _ Caleb might be able to help - with whatever spell he cast on you last night…  _ Jester takes a deep breath, gathering her strength of will for a moment, stewing on whether or not to tell him…  _ No - this is important. They  _ **_need_ ** _ to know. It could hurt us if everyone isn’t on the same page. It was Vess keeping secrets from us that got us in this mess in the first place - no secrets. No secrets.  _

__ _ “ _ I just… I didn’t sleep well last night is all. Very…  _ weird _ dreams.” Jester mumbles quietly, not able to meet anyone’s eyes as she speaks. 

Fjord cocks an eyebrow towards Jester. “Weird  _ dreams _ ? What kind of… ‘ _ weird’  _ are we talking about here?” 

Yasha gives Jester a soft, sympathetic look. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

Jester shakes her head. “No, no, it wasn’t a nightmare or anything it was just…” Jester looks out towards her friends, taking in their curious, if not worried expressions, and sighs deeply. “ _ Okayokayokay _ \- so, like, I know that I probably shouldn’t have and all, and you’ll all probably think that I’m crazy or whatever, but, so basically, I kinda…  _ messagedLucienlastnightbecauseIwaspissedoffandIdon’tevenknowanymoreandIthinkhecastsomesortofspellonmemaybe??!?  _ And I think he visited me in my dreams, basically.” 

There’s a pregnant pause in the room, as the rest of the Mighty Nein attempt to decipher and understand exactly what she just said. 

“ _ So _ …” Beau prefaces, “you Messaged him, right - and then he visited in your dreams?” 

Jester nods, her eyes trained on the cat currently lounging in her lap. “Yes, well…  _ sooooooo _ , basically, yeah - I just… I wanted to see if there was still… I wanted to see if there was still any of Molly left in him. I had to know, because... well - what if he’s still our friend, you know? But he’s not… he does remember us, though. He made it seem as though he was…  _ there _ . The whole time. Kind of like, you know, Yasha, when you were… when Obann, you know? You were still there, inside, but you just had no control over your own actions? He made it seem like that.” 

An uncomfortable silence permeates through the breakfast table. It hangs and blankets the thoughts and emotions of the Nein, as they attempt to process the uncomfortable information Jester’s revelations brings them. 

Yasha is the first one to break the silence. “So… Lucien was in there the whole time?” 

Jester’s face falls slightly, before she nods softly. “That’s how he made it seem. He - he knew who I was, Yasha, He knew…  _ details _ about me. Personally.” 

Beau leans in slightly towards the table, her wary suspicion piqued. “ _ Details? _ What do you mean by that, Jess?” 

Jester sheepishly looks down at the table, a little embarrassed and uncomfortable with all of the attention on her in the moment. “He said that he remembered me, me in particular - that I was always ‘ _ so unfailing kind’ _ ... and that I was ‘ _ always a romantic _ ’.” 

Beau looks to Yasha, who places her temples between her forefingers, a sudden pounding headache reverberating through her at this situation. Caleb drums his fingers against the table, before flexing them taught, and pulling them back into nervous fists. 

“ _ Okay _ ,” Caleb finally breaks the silence, “so - he remembers us. He remembers you, Jester - and at least, from my limited perspective, as I was not there for this conversation - seems to have a…  _ positive _ association with you. At least, he  _ appears _ to remember you in a good light. This… this doesn’t have to be a  _ bad _ thing. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing at all. In fact -” He turns his attention directly towards Jester, meeting her apprehensive gaze, “this can be a very  _ good _ thing, Jester - we can use this to our advantage.” 

“ _ We can?” _ Jester says softly. 

Beau takes a deep breath. “So what exactly is the play here - he…  _ likes _ you, I guess - or at least - I dunno, he doesn’t  _ hate _ you, I think - but I don’t really know that. So what do we do? Try to…  _ turn _ him? Through Jester?” 

Caleb nods solemnly, crossing his arms, his fingertips nervously tapping across his old scars. “It is a  _ lot _ to ask of you, Jester - and you do not have to do it, I need you to know that.” He meets her gaze, before sighing slightly. “But if he…  _ likes _ you, or at least - doesn’t completely see  _ you _ as an outright enemy - that’s an in. There are so many unanswered questions, here - in the North, of Aeor, these Nine Eyes, whatever the hell a Nonagon is, Lucien’s connections to Derogna and the Assembly - if we have an  _ in _ , if we have a way to get him to actually  _ talk _ to us, and to give us these answers willingly - it gives us a great advantage as to what we’re about to face.” 

Beau interjects, raising her hands slightly. “But that puts  _ Jester _ in danger - she’s the one taking the risk, she’s the one that will be his target should things go wrong.” 

Caleb nods, a distant, grave expression passing over his features. “It’s a lot to ask of you, Jester - I know it is. And you do not have to do it. I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. If you don’t want to take the risk, I understand - I think we can all understand that, and no one would ever hold it against you if you did. It’s just an option - you don’t have to take it. I  _ need _ you to understand that, Jester.” 

Jester meets his eyes, and can see the conflict held deep within their stormy depths - but there is understanding there, there’s fear, there’s regret - she almost doesn’t know what to do with them, with Caleb looking at her like  _ that _ \- she feels frozen in place, her petting of Mitten grinding to halt, much to the cat’s protest, her mind going a million miles a minute, thinking over the true depth of what Caleb’s proposition holds. 

Fjord breaks her train of thought, his voice deep and serious as he asks her cautiously, “Dreams - you mentioned him being in your  _ dreams _ . What did he do in your dreams, Jester?” 

Jester’s face immediately flushes a violently violet shade, averting her eyes once more, not wanting to have to detail what exactly  _ transpired _ between her an Lucien - the way he got so close to her, the way his hands ghosted down her neck, the they wrapped so effortlessly around, and  _ squeezed _ so strongly yet so soft - the heady, strange warmth that spread through her as he did, and the feel of his lips to her forehead -  _ Gods, don’t make me talk about this with all of them - fuck, they won’t get it! They won’t…  _ **_fuck_ ** _ , no - no. Just don’t mention it.  _

“I… we built a snowman. That was all.” 

“You just - built a snowman?” Fjord questions, his tone gentle enough to not press her too hard. 

Jester nods slowly. “I… I didn’t know it was him. Lucien. In the dream, at least - I thought he was Molly. I was just making a snowman with Molly. But when I woke up - that’s when I knew. I knew it was him.” 

“And he didn’t… he didn’t harm you, or do anything…  _ untoward? _ ” Fjord prods gently. 

_ Fuck. What do I even  _ **_say_ ** _? Do I answer that honestly? Because… if I’m being  _ **_honest_ ** _ … I kind of…  _ **_liked it_ ** _. And - I don’t want to really admit to that right now, if I’m being honest - not now, and not ever.  _

Jester pauses, before clearing her throat slightly, and giving a weak, nervous laugh. “No, he - it was a little weird, I’m not going to lie - and it’s kind of creepy regardless, just given the nature of whatever spell he cast on me, but he… he didn’t  _ hurt _ me. He didn’t do anything that - he didn’t do anything that I wasn’t  _ okay _ with. At least not in the parameters of the dream, you know? I was fine. I was okay. We built a snowman together, we talked about the books I read growing up, and then he snapped his fingers, and the dream was over. I wasn’t hurt.” 

The room is quiet once again, each member of the Nein doing their best to try and adequately process the implications of her carefully worded statement. It’s Caduceus who speaks next, having carefully observed the interactions unfolding in front of him, and silently drinking in the complex and layered sentiments Jester has expressed throughout this entire conversation. “This is obviously a fraught situation - I know that this must be hard for you, Jester, to see someone else embodying your passed friend - and so I would not ask you to put any undue stress on you and your own mental health and clarity given how difficult this all can be - but if you think you can handle it, and so long as he does not becoming violently aggressive in any which way towards  _ you _ , Jester - I can see how this can play to our advantage. I am also of the belief that you’re a very kind, warm, and delightful person, who seems to just have a natural way about you to bring out the best in other people - I think everyone here in this little group of our is a testament to that, and would agree with me on this - I think that you might be able to bring out the best in him, possibly - if there’s any good left in him, which there may not be, but still - if it exists, you have the best chance out of anyone to let it see the light. I think that you are uniquely suited to do this - but you do not have to, and only so long as you can stay safe in the process. Those are my thoughts, at least - but I’d be very interested in hearing what you personally have to say on it, Jester.” Caduceus takes another sip off his morning cup of tea. 

Caleb looks to Jester with a soft, almost sad expression. “He’s right, Jester - you do seem to have this gravity about you - people just can’t help but be sucked in. I don’t think he’d be able to help it, either.” 

Jester gives a soft smile at the praise, on instinct almost not believing him for a moment. She takes a deep breath, before letting out a long, dramatic sigh, sinking back into the recesses of the dining chair. “ _ Sheesh,  _ you guys - a ‘gravity about me’, huh?” Jester smiles towards Caleb, who bows his head slightly, unable to meet her gaze. She thinks it over for a long, hard moment, the quiet of the table hanging over her, the only accompaniment to her thoughts the crackling fireplace behind her. She nods her head softly. “I’ll do it.” She decides. 

Beau gives her a trepidatious glace. “You’re not just saying that to make us happy, are you?” 

Jester shakes her head. “No, Beau - I want to do it. I think I can do it. If anyone can do it, I can do it - right?” 

Beau nods, a light smirk gracing her features. “If anyone could.” 

Jester grins, her fanged smiles almost piercingly bright and eager. “Oh man, you guys - I’m totally going to fuck with him! I mean, fuck with his head, I mean - like, psychologically and all, not - anyways, I’m gonna do it - oh man, I can just scry on him, just to let him know I’m  _ there _ , you know - I mean, he already knows that I’m there, and that I’ve watched him before, and that I’ve been in his head with my Sending, and all - but I can just, do it whenever we get 10 minutes or so, you know, just to mess with him a little, right? Or maybe we shouldn’t do that - I’m trying to get him to be my friend, right? Am I? Or am I trying to mess with him? I dunno, either would be fun - but we should probably go the friend route, right? Yeah, we should go that way, I think - but I can still totally scry on him, you know, just to make sure I know where he’s at, and all, once we get out of the mansion and all, because we’re on a different plane and all.” Jester babbles on, each thought appearing in her head then out of her mouth within a mere instant, her mind rapidly sparking with devious inspiration and machinations as how to best go about things. “I’m just going to do it. Right now.” Jester turns to Fjord, and motions for him to put up his hands to help with the counting of the word limit for Sending, and he quickly places his fists in the air, ready at a moment’s action, and Jester casts the spell. 

“ _ Hey Luuuuuucien… just wondering… how are ya man? … That was some  _ **_weird_ ** _ magic you cast last night - are ya gonna do that again? Repeat performance?”  _

Lucien, doing his best to wade through waist deep, sluggish snow, barely able to see through the unrelenting snow aggressively pelting his slowly numbingly-cold body, is certainly not  _ expecting _ to hear the lilting warble of his current target’s voice piercing through his mind at this current time. Part of him wants to sigh in frustration, while the other half of him wants to laugh at her strange eagerness, especially for someone who had just cussed him out not a hour before -  _ It’s a ploy, it has to be - she knows what she’s doing. She can’t not - it’s a honeypot, nothing more… but the honey  _ **_is_ ** _ rather sweet, isn’t it…  _ **_Fine_ ** _. I’ll indulge her.  _

_ “I’m doing wonderfully, darling, thank you for asking -”  _ He lets out a slight grunt as he clears a particularly difficult embankment, “ _ \- but better from hearing your  _ **_lovely_ ** _ voice - in regards for  _ **_tonight_ ** _ … I live for your anticipation.”  _

Jester’s nostrils flare slightly, as she takes a deep breath, and tries her best not to channel her irritation and frustrations at the sly grin so evident in his honeyed tone. “He said… well, he sounded like a… well, anyways - he’s probably going to do it again tonight. Whatever dream thing that happened last night. Should I message him again?” 

The rest of the Nein sit there tensely, uncertain of what to really say or how to respond. Veth finally gives a shrug, which is all the prompting Jester needs to cast it again. 

_ “Where are you going to? Do you want me to come with? … Or do you like the chase? Is that what you want from me?”  _

Lucien can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes his lips, his smirk broadening to a wide grin, as he licks his lips at the prospect.  _ “I think you already know the answers to that, love.” _

Jester tries to repress the thrill that runs through her at his words -  _ Fuck, why does he have to say it like that? So…  _ **_sexy-like_ ** _ … dick. Jerkface. Asshole.  _ She turns towards the rest of the Mighty Nein, and freezes for a moment, unsure of how to even explain to them just what he said to her in a way that won’t make them judge  _ her _ in the process. “ _ Sooooooo _ … I think he wants us to follow him. He’s… it’s all  _ intentional _ . He  _ wants _ us to chase him.” 

There’s a long pause, as everyone sits with the weight of the statement, before Beau finally breaks the uneasy silence. “It’s a trap. It’s a trap, right? He’s leading us like pigs to the slaughter.” 

There’s another uncomfortably protracted moment of silence before Jester smiles weakly, nodding, slumping her shoulders slightly. “Yeah. Probably.” Jester shoots her friend a resigned, but understanding look. “But - what other choice do we have? We have to follow him - we  _ have  _ to stop him - and, honestly - the  _ best _ way to not have it be… you know, a  _ slaughter _ , is to get closer to him. See if I can weasel some more information out of him, understand him better, and maybe, just  _ maybe _ , turn him to our side. Caleb’s right - this is our best shot.” 

Beau sighs. “...  _ Unfortunately…  _ I’m inclined to agree. But - I just need us all to be on the same page here - we all  _ know _ we’re being set up, right? We’re all in agreement there?” 

The Nein nod, somberly quiet.

“We’re relying on you, Jester.” Caleb looks towards her, a soft yet sad expression in his eyes. “I know you can do it -  _ we _ know you can do it.” 


	4. With a Dream-like Logic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello there folks! Have a thicc little update for ya! I know I am absolutely not using the Dream spell correctly here, but it Works okay! Also, since this fic was first written, obviously certain parts of the premise are no longer consistent with the actual cannon behind Lucien, however, I'm continuing to just go with things the way I had intended, and making it be known that there's a DEEP canon divergence here. But, I hope you like this new chapter, and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day! Stay safe out there, folks <3

The day is long, hard, and weary on the body, with steep hikes in waist deep snow making Jester’s feet and hips ache from over-use, as she does her best to keep herself warm and her thoughts occupied. But it’s still there, nagging in the back of her head, that tendril of worry and anxiety over the man they’re all currently running after -  _ What if we’re too late? What if they succeed in whatever they’re going to do - what even  _ **_are_ ** _ they going to do? Are we going to have another Obann type of situation? … Am I going to have to kill him - kill Lucien - kill  _ **_Molly_ ** _? How can I stare down the face of my friend, who I loved so deeply, and  _ **_kill_ ** _ him as he would likely do to me - I don’t know if I could even  _ **_do_ ** _ that! Traveler, please don’t make me have to do that - I think it would break me entirely. _

Almost out of instinct, Jester casts Sending.  _ “Hi Lucien - quick question - what are you doing here in Eislecross? Do you need our help?... Let me know… I want to be friends, okay?”  _

Himself in the middle of his own strenuous hike through the endless snow, Lucien certainly wasn’t expecting to hear Jester’s voice suddenly overtake and fill his mind at the current moment. He lets out a wry chuckle, before responding. “ _ Friends, hm? … I like friends. Friends can help one another out - if friends is what you want… I can go with that. Friends it is. _ ” He humors her, knowing her ploy, and yet… finding it oddly charming with the sheer nerve behind it. 

Jester smiles slightly.  _ Good, good - friends is good! I can work with that, I can use that!  _ Jester surveys the rest of her party, and their beleaguered demeanor, the elements of Eislecross beginning to take its toll on her weary friends. “Are we going to make camp soon?” Jester calls out. 

Daegon looks to the dimming light, and nods his head. “It’s best we start gearing towards that direction - while the sky is all clouded with snowfall, the sun will be setting in about 45 minutes.” Daegon turns his head towards Caleb. “Can you do that… arcane, magical shit? That door thing? The tower?” 

Caleb nods his head. “I can.” 

Jester smiles, “ _ Eeeeexecllent.”  _ A knowing smirk graces her features, as she casts Sending one more time. “ _ I love friends! I want to get to  _ **_know_ ** _ you, Lucien - I don’t know  _ **_you_ ** _ , only… someone else. I want to be friends with  _ **_you_ ** _.”  _

Lucien halts in his step, faltering slightly, if but only for a moment.  _ She’s good…  _ **_she’s_ ** **_good_ ** . He can’t help the gnawing, almost primal hunger he feels in the pit of his stomach for what she speaks of - what he knows he can never have, will only make him  _ weak _ , and will only serve as a distraction for his goals  _ … Why do I  _ **_want_ ** _ that -  _ **_why_ ** _ do I  _ **_want_ ** _ that?  _ He scowls slightly, a growl on the tip of his tongue, even surprised himself at the strength of the deep seeded reactionary anger he feels at his own frivolous  _ wanting _ \- he takes a deep breath, and tries to right his thoughts in the bitter cold numbing his cheeks.  _ This is what she wants - this is her game - and I’m playing right into it.  _ **_Fuck_ ** _ … I underestimated you, Jester Lavorre.  _

“ _ Really now?”  _ Lucien replies.  _ “You want to get to know me?... Well then…  _ **_come find me_ ** _.”  _ He growls out, his voice taking on a dark and husky manner. 

Now it’s Jester’s turn to stop in her tracks, his voice taking on such a rough, commanding, yet sly tone that sends a shamefully intense bolt of arousal down to her core, an electric pulse striking down within her that nearly knocks her off-kilter entirely. She whimpers slightly, eternally grateful that he can’t hear her reaction. She bundles herself further in her coat, nestling deeper into the fur-lined hood.  _ I’m going to find you, alright - whether I want to or not, it would seem.  _

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/- 

Sleep eludes her. Even wrapped in her luxurious, push, and downy comforter, she just  _ can’t _ sleep -  _ He’s going to be there - in my mind, in my dreams - I  _ **_know_ ** _ he’s going to be there. He told me as much - what is he going to do? Do to me - do  _ **_with_ ** _ me?  _ There’s an instinctual tendril of fear that wraps around her, holding her limp in it’s grasp, frightened into inaction, only able to lie in her bed filled with cats, staring at the waxing and waning waves that crash into the enchanted painting of Nicodranas’s shore that decorates the roof of her canopy bed. There’s fear there, yes - but also… she doesn’t want to even admit it to herself, doesn’t want to acknowledge the extent to which Lucien elicits a reaction from her. She stays up, for what feels like hours at this point, until she’s physically incapable of resisting the allure of resting her weary eyes. 

It could be mere moments, it could be hours upon hours, but there’s a slight, merciful respite of pure void, nothingness marked by inky blackness, glorious moments where her rabbiting mind is simply turned off, and there’s just nothing - no fear, no grief, no hatred, no sorrow, no stress - just an absence of everything. But even this truly eludes her, slipping from her grasp moments after it’s inception, and she finds herself fighting, fighting against whatever force is thrusting her into some semblance of physically reality - but she finds herself completely overcome, no matter how hard she fights against it, some otherworldly magnetism forces her into physical manifestation - and she finds herself slumped over a wooden bar. 

It’s a worn, solid bar, like it’s seen much better days - and she finds herself sleepily strewn over it, sitting in a wooden barstool, a tankard of milk to her right. It’s loud here, raucous music in full swing, with distant echoes of loud, celebratory explosions -  _ Fireworks? _ Jester raises her head, and takes in her surroundings - it’s familiar, it’s eerily familiar -  _ … Hupperduke? _ She surveys the bar and rowdy dancing not twenty feet from her -  _ Yes, yes - Hupperduke! Hupperduke… why… Hupperduke…  _

She pivots on her stool, only to run straight into an expertly and coyly perched Mollymauk, resting his head against his elbow, brow cocked in his naturally sly demeanor. “Hello, sleepyhead.” He teases. 

“Was I asleep?” Jester replies groggily. 

“Oh, yes - it’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” He comments. 

“...  _ Has it _ ?” Jester finds herself genuinely struggling to recall any details about the day at hand. 

“It  _ has _ .” Molly states affirmably. 

Jester nods in agreement, unable to really find the energy to care to question what he’s saying, nor reason to not trust his assessment. “I should probably get to bed.” Jester moves to get up out of her stool, but falters slightly, her tired limbs wobbling as she attempts to regain her balance. 

“ _ Easy now, easy now,” _ Molly’s hands move to steady her, gently yet firmly moving towards her shoulders. “Let me help you to bed, sleepy girl.” 

Jester sighs happily, letting Molly’s hands guide her, his arm wrapping around her, as she rests her head against his shoulder. Molly leads Jester from the stool, drawing her onto the dancefloor simply for the purposes of crossing the room. Jester stirs in his grasp, even through her tiredness a grin spreading across her face, finding the energy deep within her to begin to sway to the music. “ _ Molly…” _ Jester turns around in his grasp, taking his hands in hers, and cocking her brow suggestively. “Just  _ one _ dance?” 

Molly gives her a curious glance. “ _ I  _ thought  _ you _ were falling asleep at the bar.” 

“Just hold me up, okay?” Jester wraps one of her arms around his shoulders and neck, getting into position, her movements still almost slurred and unbalanced, as she rests her head against his chest. 

Molly stiffens slightly, for a moment unsure, but he chuckles lightly, and wraps his arm around her waist and grabs her other hand, as he starts to lead the two of them in a casual, but rather inelegant dance. 

Jester nuzzles her face in his scarred chest, and sighs contentedly. “ _ This is nice _ .” She mumbles into the gap of his plunging neckline, allowing herself the simple pleasures of being held, indulging her  _ need _ for plain physical contact. Molly is not the greatest dancer, which surprises her slightly, given his talent for theatrics and his performing background, but she doesn’t care in the slightest - right now, all she can think of is the feeling of his heartbeat right against her cheek, his chin resting on the top of her head, his arm around her waist, and their two tails lazily and subconsciously winding themselves together. It reminds her almost of being back in Nicodranas, and being with her Mama, how she would dance with her in her room, or hold her as they both fell asleep, safe, warm, just the two of them - and she feels a sudden pang, an ache, for simpler times when the world made sense, and what she’d  _ give _ to hug her Mama right now. Jester grows silent, and she can feel the edges of tears prick the corners of her eyes. 

Sensing the change in Jester’s mood, Molly picks his head us, and looks down at Jester. “What are you thinking about, love?” He idly places his hand in her hair, the tips of his clawed fingers gently scratching the base of her horns. “Whatever could be worrying in your pretty little head?” 

Jester looks up at him, his blood red eyes with the faintest hint of pupils, as he looks down at her inquisitively, like he’s trying to figure her out, like she’s a puzzle - and she sighs, tucking her chin against the tattoo of a eye in the center of his chest. “Oh,  _ Molly _ …” She doesn’t quite know where to even begin. “It’s just - everything, it’s all just… so  _ stressful _ , you know? And I just… I miss my Mama, is all.” 

Molly tucks a strand of hair behind her pointed ears. “Yes, your Mama - the Ruby of the Sea, right?” 

Jester smiles. “And I, the Little Sapphire - oh, Molly - that’s right, you’ve never met her, you never  _ got to _ …” Jester pauses, her mind becoming a little fuddled, trying to piece together a timeline for what  _ has _ even happened, and what  _ is _ even happening right now - she can feel the beginnings of a headache as she furrows her brow, trying to remember  _ why _ she’s here, what  _ is _ here, and what’s even going  _ on _ right  _ now,  _ this  _ moment _ ,  _ here - And with Molly? Why is Molly here - is Molly alive? _ Jester looks up at him, deeply confused, and a little scared at how much she doesn’t understand. “Molly, have you -  _ have _ you met Mama? Did you -  _ Molly, _ are you -” 

He pets her hair, and makes small shushing noises as he pats her back. “ _ Shshshsh _ \- it’s alright, Jester, it’s all right - you’ve had a long day, that’s all - it’s very stressful, just as you said - you really should go to sleep, now - come here,  _ come here -  _ let’s get you to bed,  _ hm _ ?” He takes her hand and slowly begins weaving her through the crowd of people and up to their rooms. 

Jester nods slightly, seeing the logic in what he’s saying, but  _ still - This… this isn’t right.  _ She can’t help the slowly gnawing feeling, deep within her gut, that there’s something  _ off _ , there’s something not quite  _ right _ here. Molly leads her through the sea of dancing people, up the cramped wooden stairway, and right to her room - it’s bare, utilitarian, a bed and a bedside table and nothing else. The bed looks almost a little sad, rather flat and questionable at best, and she deeply isn’t looking forward to dropping her head against the rough-looking fabric of her almost paper-thin pillow. She just sighs, a little put off by it, but accepting of her fate to having an uncomfortable sleep regardless. Molly leads her inside the dark room, as Jester resignedly casts Thaumaturgy and lights the sole candle in the room on the small bedside table. He closes the door behind him, and guides her to the bed. 

“Here now, Jester - let’s get you to sleep. What can I do to help you get ready for bed, dear?” 

Jester pauses for a moment. “There’s only one bed.” She states, looking towards Molly with a questioning glance. “Are Beau and Yasha rooming with me tonight like normal? _ Or _ …” 

“There’s been a change in roommates for the night.” Molly replies immediately, without faltering. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes - Beau and Yasha wanted the room to themselves, tonight.” 

“ _ Oh?” _ Jester responds, both intrigued and a little sad that they didn’t want to room with her. “Are they -  _ oh _ , are they, you know - are they  _ boning _ ?” 

Molly chuckles, and boops her nose knowingly. “ _ I mean…” _ He wags his brows insidiously. 

“ _ Oh _ … good for them.” Jester says quietly, looking down to her lap. 

“ _ Finally _ , I mean - the amount of sexual tension between those two…” Molly gossips. “But it’ll be just the two of us tonight.” He looks in Jester’s eyes, and she finds herself freezing in the moment, caught by the ways in which his strange, otherworldly solid eyes can portray such  _ hunger _ \-  _ Is that - is he - is Molly… is he… is he coming on to me? No, no, he can’t be - he’s just my friend, he’s just  _ **_Molly_ ** _ , he’s always like this - right? It has to - but the way he’s looking at me…  _ **_fuck_ ** _ …  _

Jester lets out a nervous chuckle, a blush coming to her cheeks. “ _ There’s only one bed _ …” She says almost under her breath, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. 

“ _ Well _ … it’s just like those books you love to read, isn’t it?” He says flirtatiously, his accent taking on even more of a lilting quality than usual. 

Jester pauses for a moment, a memory sparking in her brain -  _ Snow - Molly - we built a snowman, didn’t we? And we talked about…  _ **_oh_ ** _.  _ The phantom feeling of his hands around her throat, his intense gaze piercing through her soul, the heady and strong  _ desire _ that had coursed through her then - just the thought of the memory sends a direct bolt of arousal to her core, desire blooming deep within her, its blossoming spreading through her being, leaving her face and chest flushed a violent, bruise-like violet. “It is, isn’t it?” Jester comments softly, nervous want and embarrassment intertwining within her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed, deeply unsure of what to do next. 

“ _ Well -”  _ Molly pats her thigh lightly, “we’d best be to bed, shouldn’t we?” 

Jester can’t help the smile that spreads across her features at the thought. She nods softly, before meeting his gaze tentatively, as he raises his brows knowingly, giving her his signature, winning sly smirk, the one that always sent butterflies aflutter in her belly. She laughs nervously once more, her buzzing arousal at only intensifying under the weight of his gaze. Shaking slightly simply from the nerves, she goes towards her corset, beginning to unwrench the caught notches of the split busk, slowly, one by one, divesting herself of the garment as he watches her  _ hungrily _ . Seeing her, he takes off his coat slowly, teasingly, never taking his eyes off of her. She blushes heavily, and reaches for the buttons at the back of her skirt, as she shimmies out of the garment, dropping it slowly in a heap on the floor. He grins, leaning down slightly to undo the laces on his boots, as he eyes her wolfishly. He takes off his boots and goes towards his belt, as Jester takes off her blouse, and begins to slowly shed her many layers of petticoats, until she’s left in only her camisole and knickers. Molly quickly sheds himself of his leggings, but takes his time with his shirt, ensuring he has her gaze held in his, as he makes a show of revealing his toned chest and abs, in an overly preformative manner that makes Jester erupt in a fit of giggles. 

The two of them left only in their underwear, they both make their way under the covers of the admittedly small bed. Jester can see Molly pause for a moment, his hands moving to wrap around her instinctively, but hesitating a moment beforehand. “Jester, dear - would you like me to - would you be  _ comfortable _ letting me -”

“I want to  _ shnuggle _ , Molly.” Jester smiles sleepily, nestling herself against his bare chest. 

Molly lets outs small a chuckle, before winding his arms around her petite form, holding her in a vice-like grip against his chest, sighing happily, causing Jester to erupt into a fit of giggles and he squeezes her body tight against his, her tail thrashing about against the mattress before being halted by his own, as they begin to play fight with each other for dominance, almost with a mind of their own. He nestles his face in Jester’s hair, rubbing his nose in it, and lets out a playful growl as she laughs, squirming about in his grasp.

“ _ Mollyyyyyy!”  _ Jester whines in between her laughter, beating her hands against his chest. 

He laughs at her protest, before relenting and relaxing his grip on her, and tracing the tips of his talons against the back on her arms, causing her to shiver at their sharpness. Jester settles into his delightfully warm body, allowing the pads of her fingertips to ghost against the litany of textured scars on his chest, a smile on her face. She’s just so…  _ warm _ and  _ soft _ right now -  _ When’s the last time I’ve actually done this? Just… allow myself to be  _ **_held_ ** _? And like this? … I can’t remember…  _ **_I can’t remember_ ** _ …  _ For a moment, the thought scares her slightly - she feels so strange, foggy-headed, the only thing truly register to her right now, in this moment, simply the shared body heat, the blissful feeling of Molly’s arms wrapped around her form, and the ever-present sleepiness and  _ aching _ need to simply rest here in his arms, and leave the taxing notion of thinking for another day. It’s almost like a tunnel vision of sorts - all she can focus on is  _ warm,  _ and  _ soft _ , and  _ touch _ , and  _ safe _ \-  _ nothing else matters.  _

Molly plays idly with her hair, looking down at the woman in his arms. “ _ Jester?” _ He says softly. 

“ _ Mmmmm?” _

“...  _ Do you like this? _ ” His voice is quiet, with a strange intensity to it, in a way that strikes her as odd given the situation.

Jester cocks her head to the side, and turns her head to look up at him. His eyes, those strange, almost glowing, solid blood red eyes - they look so serious, so suddenly serious, and for a moment she wonders if she’s done something wrong, if she’s ruined the mood, as the expression in his eyes is so…  _ strange _ , so oddly analytical, like he’s assessing her, almost like he’s boring into her very soul itself.  _ What’s… going on? _

“...  _ Yes _ \- yes, of course I like this, Molly - I like you! Anything to be with  _ you _ , Molly.” She speaks as if she were stating the obvious, but with a subtle undercurrent of a question in her tone, a little confused as to the sudden shift within him. “Did I - is there something wrong? Do you not like this? Is this - am I making you uncomfortable?” She pulls back slightly. 

He shakes his head, petting her hair, moving to reassure her. “ _ Nonononono _ \- nothing of the sort. Banish it from your mind.” He moves to cup her face, his hands winding their way across her cheekbones and jaw, tracing the back of his talons across her dainty and gracile cheekbones. “Not at all, Jester - I…” There’s a sudden intake of his breath, as Jester can see words forming on the tip of his forked tongue, but getting caught in his throat. But he stops himself, doing a long exhale through his nose, before nodding his head slightly. “ _ Anything to be with me, hm?”  _ He says so softly, almost wistfully, his eyes growing almost sad and distant for a moment. 

Jester nods ever so softly, a smile gracing her features. “ _ Anything to be with you, Molly. _ ” 

Jester can see his expression steel, a strange melancholy overtaking his normally vibrant features. His hands cupping her face move downwards, holding her chin in his grasp, his thumb gracing over her plush bottom lip. Jester’s breath hitches slightly, as the sharp point of his clawed thumb  _ presses _ in, causing her to gasp slightly. The look in his eyes turns so  _ charged _ , so  _ magnetic _ , yet  _ inquisitive _ ,  _ searching, ploring, probing _ \- out of pure instinct, her similarly forked tongue reaches out to the pad of his thumb, exploring the ridges of his fingerprint, before she takes a leap, and wraps her mouth around it, and  _ sucks.  _

There’s a hitch in his breath, before his mouth curls into a smirk, and he nods softly. “ _ That’s what I thought.”  _ He mutters under his breath. He retracts his thumb from Jester mouth, Jester can see the tension in his eyes, can see him just on the brink of something, formulating his next move, before he gives an almost resigned nod, and pulls Jester in closer, burying her face in his neck, and his face in her hair. He takes a long, deep breath, sighing slightly, before muttering into her forehead, “ _ Goodnight, Jester.”  _

Jester pauses, lying there limp in his grasp for a moment, stunned slightly into inaction, before she relents, settling into his hold, and nuzzling her nose against the column of his scarred neck. “ _ Goodnight, Molly. _ ” And Jester closes her eyes, and finds herself lulled into a deep sleep. 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Jester awakes slowly, wearily, and cold, without the presence of the warm body she fell asleep with - and she lets out a slight whine, her arms reaching and grasping into thin air. She sits up in her bed, her luxurious, four poster bed, deeply not the cramped, shitty inn bed she remembers falling asleep in, and she wipes her eyes sleepily, allowing her thoughts to coalesce. 

_ Where’s Molly?  _ She looks around for him, and finds nothing - nothing but her room in Caleb’s tower, the room she  _ actually _ fell asleep in. It takes her a moment, before it hits her, and hits her  _ hard _ , an instinctual chill of fear, anger, resentment, but also a deep and profound  _ sadness _ and  _ grief _ wrecks her body, all slamming into her at once, adrenaline surging through her veins at the realization. 

_ That little - that  _ **_bastard_ ** _ \- why would he - how  _ **_could_ ** _ he! _

She can feel her blood pressure rising at the thought of him corrupt and wielding one of the last memories she has of him against her, in such a…  _ unnerving _ way - she almost doesn’t know if she should be angriest at the  _ softness _ of it, the ways in which he was so…  _ gentle _ \- she can’t tell if that’s what makes it truly disturbing - but there’s the gnawing, small part of her that can’t let go of just how  _ good _ it felt in the moment - what she would  _ give _ to have that have actually been him,  _ been _ Molly - and she almost can’t tell if that’s the most disturbing part of all. 

She can feel the beginnings of a retaliatory Sending spell form on the tip of her tongue, but she falters, unsure of what she would even  _ say _ to him -  _ What do I even say to that?  _ She tries to think of something,  _ something _ ,  _ anything _ to say to him - curses, screaming, or pleas, but she comes up short, unable to think of a  _ proper _ response to  _ that _ . 

  
And so… she says nothing. She gets out of bed, gets ready, and heads downstairs for breakfast stone faced. She sits down at the breakfast table, and is almost unable to eat her pancakes, before she turns to Fjord, and looks him dead in the eyes, and says blankly, “ _ Give me the amulet _ .” 


	5. Rationalizing the Irrational

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! This is a small chapter, but the next one will be *much* larger. This is a little insight into Lucien's head, and all the ways in which a villain tries to justify their own dubious actions to themselves, and hopefully sets up the next juicy chapter. I debated whether or not to upload this by itself because of its length, but I'd rather have a defined set-up than a chapter with too many narrative beats. So, enjoy, and hopefully I'll be updating soon with the next one!

Lucien feels it the  _ minute _ it happens - his many eyes can see  _ many _ things - including when certain things attempt to  _ block _ themselves from his view. It’s like blowing out a candle - a sudden loss of light, and sudden and abrupt change in the environment, the curse he placed on her, the calming knowledge of always knowing her movements at a minimum - just  _ gone _ , in almost an instant. Jester vanishes from his periphery just as they had begun to leave camp, right as they started leaving the cave they spent the night in - and it  _ irks _ him, genuinely irritates the hell out of him -  _ angers _ him, really, for many reasons in all honesty - his ability to gauge where she is (at least during the times she’s present on  _ this _ plane, which does always peak his interest whenever she appears to  _ leave _ the Material plane to sleep) at all times, and ensure she and her party never get ahead of him is all just gone in an instant, and his ability to peak in keep a close watch on her is fucking  _ gone _ . 

He lets out frustrated snarl, his hands balling into clawed fists, unintentionally gathering the attention of his own party. He doesn’t even think, he acts purely out of complete and base instinct, casting Sending on Jester. “ _ Are you  _ **_hiding_ ** _ from me, dear? … What is it - are you afraid of me? … It’s no matter. I’ll be seeing you soon enough.” _ He growls out, his voice taking on a much more venomous tone than he’d have liked it to, and for a moment he’s struck by the mere fact that he finds himself feeling  _ regret _ at the prospect of being harsh with her - the mere thought of it is worrying enough, strangely, almost even more worrying to him than the fact that she’s blocked herself off from him in the first place. 

He doesn’t get a response at first, only hearing the delectable way in which her breath hitches, caught in her throat in an abrupt gasp that sends a slow, cresting spread of satisfaction throughout his body. But, after a pregnant pause a moment’s consideration, her voice finally pierces through his mind. “ _ I’m not hiding. I’ll know we’ll be meeting soon - I’m counting on it. I’m… I’m looking forward to it, honestly. I… want to see you.” _ Her voice is so quiet, barely a whisper, sad almost - down-trodden,  _ defeated _ almost - for than anything, the tone of voice sends immediate alarm bells ringing through his head. 

_ … She’s lying, isn’t she? She  _ **_has_ ** _ to be - this is a fucking tactic. But… she sounded so…  _ **_sad_ ** _. She’s usually so  _ **_bright_ ** _ and  _ **_peppy_ ** _ \- what the  _ **_hell_ ** _ is going on with her? Is this another tactic itself? Is she trying to play my sympathies?  _

__ _ …  _

__ _ It won’t work. I won’t let it.  _

__ _ …  _

__ _ But  _ **_why_ ** _ though?  _

__ _ Did I pry too deep? Is she really so hung up on that Mollymauk figure? Is that what’s going on? … It’s obvious she…  _ **_cared_ ** _ about him, foolishly - but… did I - did I go too -  _

__ **_Stop_ ** _. I did what I needed to. I got information, very useful information - information that I wouldn’t have been able to get otherwise. And she seemed to like it - at least in the moment - I was only acting on what  _ **_she_ ** _ wanted, only drawing on  _ **_her_ ** _ desires - I did nothing  _ **_wrong_ ** _ , I did not push too  _ **_far_ ** _.  _ **_I_ ** _ am not to blame here. Her emotions have nothing to do with me. I’m not responsible for her happiness.  _

__ _ …  _

__ He casts Sending one more time. “ _ You’ll be seeing me soon enough. I’m looking forward to it, dear.”  _

__ He gets no response. 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/- 

The snow is washed with blood. Two of his companions lay slain in the unrelenting tundra. The Mighty Nein is  _ barely _ holding on, everyone involved looking  _ rough _ and on the precipice, exhausted, bloodied, bruised, and frantic - there’s no way out. Fight or flight. 

Jester can feel panic setting in, out of spell slots, and left with only her axe to defend herself from the vicious onslaught of the Tomb Takers. Lucien makes one decisive swing with one of his scimitars, and with a violent spray of blood into the already crimson snow, Veth falls right in front of her. 

Lucien himself is looking  _ frantic _ , the frenzy and heat of battle almost blinding his vision - and for once, he genuinely  _ cannot _ see how this will all play out.  _ It’s a toss up, it’s a  _ **_fucking_ ** _ toss up - Shit.  _ **_Fuck_ ** _. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.  _ Another member of his party falls in front of him, pierced through the ghastly blade wielded by the formidable Aasimar barbarian not twenty feet from him.  _ I have to get out.  _ **_I have to get out_ ** . 

He looks towards the frightened blue Tiefing in front of him, her grip on her axe wavering and unsure, tears staining down the blood spatter coating her cheeks. She looks towards him with a pleading look, a silent begging in her eyes to simply  _ end _ this, to just  _ end _ this encounter entirely, a murmured plea on her lips that he can’t quite make out in the mayhem of the battle -  _ Fuck it. Fuck it. This is either going to work, or I’m going to die. Do or die.  _ **_Do or die_ ** _. _ And so, he casts Dominate Person on Jester. 

Jester feels this strange  _ wave _ pulse through her as the magic takes effect, and her grip on her axe falters, going limp in her grasp. She looks towards Lucien with an almost blank expression.  _ This is pointless - this is  _ **_needless_ ** _. There’s no reason to fight - it’ll only lead to more bloodshed.  _

Lucien extends his hand towards her. “ _ Come with me - we need to leave.  _ **_Now._ ** ” 

And Jester can’t explain it - but  _ something…  _ it tells her that this is the right thing to do.  _ You can trust him.  _ She looks out towards her friends, fighting for their life in the middle of the blizzard - and she takes his hand. 

  
And in an instant, Jester can feel herself be  _ wrenched _ from reality, de-materialized in an instant, violently thrust from her spot in the blood-drenched snow, as Lucien casts Teleport on them both. 


	6. Imposter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man guys! This is been a long time coming! This was supposed to be a much longer chapter, but that would have been well over 20 pages, and I'm trying to not have my chapters so *that* long moving forward. 
> 
> I should also note, that this is *not* representation of a healthy relationship, and *please* don't take it as such. Shit gets dark here, so mind the tags. 
> 
> But, that being said, please enjoy this one way trip on the angst train! Have fun, and stay around for a while bbs! ^_^

When Jester comes to, all she can feel is this horrible,  _ splitting _ pain, all over - it feels like her body is physically being  _ torn apart _ and asunder, by a force so strong she almost can’t comprehend it - she cries out, a guttural scream ripping through her body, before, in the flash of an instant - it’s gone. And she’s falling. 

The biting blizzard winds are only intensified with the rush of falling air that blasts past her as she plummets. She feels almost boneless in the moment, completely unsure of where she is, how she got here, or where she’s even  _ going _ other than down. She should be terrified - she  _ really _ should be  _ terrified _ \- but…  _ oddly _ … she feels almost… at  _ peace _ .  _ Is this the end? _ The thought courses through her, and she’s surprised at the extent to which the question doesn’t prompt an instinctual panic through her.  _ Is this how I’m gonna die? … Why am I okay with this?  _

__ Interrupting her train of thought, seemingly out of nowhere, two  _ strong _ arms grasp onto her from behind, pulling her flush against a strong chest as she falls.  _ “HOLD ON!”  _ Lucien’s voice calls out, yelling through the fierce winds, even though his voice is right behind her, right in her ears, she almost can’t hear him through the storm. “ _ BRACE YOURSELF!” _ He twists his shoulders in the air, pulling Jester’s body over his, placing himself directly under her, before there’s a sickening  **_THWACK!_ ** As the two of them impact in the snow, her fall cushioned by the weight of Lucien’s body. 

He lets out a throaty groan, as he winces, a little bit of blood trailing at the corner of his mouth where it wasn’t there just a moment ago. Jester’s whole body feels like a weak bruise, and her head is  _ pounding _ at the moment. She raises her head slightly from its resting point on Lucien’s chest, the both of them pants rather loudly, thoroughly exhausted and deeply in pain. “ _ What… what  _ **_happened_ ** _?” _ She mutters weakly. 

Lucien lets out a heavy sigh, and weakly runs a hand through Jester’s blood-splattered hair. “ _ We…  _ we’re going to have a  _ talk _ , later,  _ soon _ \- but -” He sits up slowly, a loud  _ POP! _ Erupting through his sternum as he moves, “-  _ we need to go _ . We need to keep moving -  _ now _ .” 

Immediately, Jester feels an unfamiliar spark run down her spine - an  _ urge _ , a sudden, all encompassing sense of  _ direct _ , of  _ purpose _ \- and she musters up her strength, and wrenches herself from her mangled position lying against Lucien’s chest, pain  _ searing _ through her body as she does so, and attempts to stand - and her knees buck out from under her, a brutal  _ throb _ erupting from her right ankle the minute she attempts to put any weight on it. She falls back down to the snowy ground, and back onto Lucien, who looks towards her with concern in his eyes that feels  _ achingly _ familiar - and for a moment, she’s reminded of Molly, of the post-battle looks he would give her, the concern for her wounds, and she feels the hollow pang of grief for a man both gone and right in front of her at the same time. 

“Come on dear, come here -” Lucien gestures towards his arms, looking to brace her in standing up. That same instinctual spark and urge to do as he says runs through her, and she slings her shoulder around his frame without question. “- right now. One, two,  _ three -” _ He braces her, pulling her up with him in an act of strength that leaves him genuinely winded in this current state. He has to stoop greatly to get his shoulders level with her own, but eventually, the two stand up, and try to survey the area around them. 

“ _ Damn.  _ **_Damn_ ** .” Lucien swears under his breath. “ _ I knew this would fucking happen.” _ He mutters.  _ None of this -  _ **_none of this_ ** _ looks familiar. Gods fucking  _ **_know_ ** _ where we are right now. Shit.  _ **_Fuck._ ** **_Fuck_ ** . He takes a deep breath, and attempts to center himself and his rapidly panicking thoughts. He squints out towards the seemingly endless expanse of nearly blinding white, and he could  _ swear _ he can just _ ever _ so slightly make out a large, dome-like mound of snow, with the briefest hint of grey stone teasing out from excess of white. “ _ Okay - okay _ , we can  _ do this, Jester _ \- we just have to make it to that cave, over there, and then we can tend to your ankle. We can do this, Jester,  _ you _ can do this.” His voice is tense, almost unsure, like he’s trying to  _ force _ himself to actually  _ believe _ what he’s saying. Jester lets out a groan of protest as she attempts to walk with his aid. “ _ I know, I know,” _ Lucien switches his hold on her slightly to move a little more behind her and assist her further, leaning his mouth down to her ear to continue to murmur sweet reassurances into her ear. “ _ We just have to make it to the cave, sweetheart, you’re doing so well, I know you can do it,”  _ His words become almost mindless, simply spouting off anything and everything vaguely reassuring he can think of off the top of his head to try and placate her and the situation, growing increasingly concerned with each passing moment and wavering step that she  _ genuinely can’t _ , and might have done something  _ much _ worse than a simple sprain or twisted ankle. 

Every step feels like  _ agony _ to Jester, her right ankle both unresponsive and firing every single pain response  _ imaginable _ at the same time. She cries out with every small, sputtering step forward. “ _ I can’t, I can’t, Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t -”  _ Jester’s slow movement forwards comes to a stop, her body simply crumpling inward against her will, completely giving out on her, and falls to her knees in Lucien’s grasp. 

Lucien still manages to hold her up,  _ barely _ , fighting against his own exhaustion and her dead weight. He takes a deep,  _ deep _ breath, ruminating in his own frustration at the current odds and situation in front of him, and the impending threat of the Dominate Person spell on her running out, and so he lets out a long,  _ barely _ cathartic sigh, before swooping down and under her, placing his arms under the crook of her knees, and bracing his other around her shoulders and neck, an weakly begins the trek to the cave, carrying her bridal style through the snow. 

If her head wasn’t so fogged by the pain, and the scenario, situation, and threat of danger was not present, Jester knows she would have been swooning, being carried like this by a strong and handsome man, nonetheless one who looks exactly like Molly - she could imagine a world in which it was Molly carrying her right now,  _ Molly _ whispering in her ear,  _ Molly’s _ warm chest she was cradled against - and it’s a lovely,  _ lovely _ fantasy - and so she closes her eyes for a moment, and chases the bliss that fantasy gives her, so desperate for  _ anything _ other than her current dire straits. But this is no fantasy. Her body is  _ screaming _ out to her, in horrible,  _ horrible _ pain, and she doesn’t know  _ where _ she is, or where her friends are, and she’s completely out of spells or means to remedy this situation - all she has is the warmth of Lucien’s body, his slowly fading hold on her, and the knowledge and feeling of his heart beat against hers - it’s  _ all _ she has,  **_all_ ** she has, his touch her sole comfort in this mess of a situation. 

Lucien’s arms feel like they’re going to  _ fall  _ off at this point, his body so exhausted from the strain of battle that they burn with every moment he carries on, but he  _ has _ to, he’s so  _ fucking _ close -  _ I just need to make it to that damn cave, just to the cave, and then we both can fucking  _ **_rest_ ** _. I can do this. I can do this.  _

Eventually, the two make it to the entrance of the cave, and Lucien carries Jester through the threshold, and lets out a  _ heavy _ sigh as he gently lies her down against the stone floor. He takes a deep breath, sitting down next to her. He gives himself a moment to collect himself before he looks towards her. “Do you have any healing left in you, Jester?” 

Jester shakes her head. “I have nothing.” She says quietly. “I will tomorrow, though.” 

Lucien nods his head, expecting as such. “ _ Right _ . Well - tomorrow is a new day. Hopefully a better day.” He takes one more deep, long breath, before he slaps his knees, forcing the appearance of a renewed expression of vigor on himself. “In the meantime - let’s see what we can do for your ankle. Do you have a healer’s kit on you?” 

Jester nods weakly. “It’s in my bag.” Jester goes towards her haversack, and pulls it out, going towards her gauze. “Can you help me wrap it?” 

“I’ll do my best.” Lucien takes the gauze, and moves in front of her, positioning himself in front of her ankle, moving to undo the laces of her boot. He takes the shoe off slowly, as to not aggravate the injury further, before he moves up slightly, almost on top of her for a moment, slowly,  _ tortuously _ , he pulls down her knitted thigh high, his clawed fingertips gracing against her inner thighs in a way that makes her gasp a little more loudly than she would have liked to, the glorious sound not lost on Lucien. He can’t help the smirk that graces his features at that lovely, breathy response, and for a moment he completely loses focus on the task at hand, before the sight of her deeply bruised bare ankle graces his vision, and he remembers the  _ real _ reason behind his actions.  _ Right. Task at hand, man.  _ He takes the gauze in hand, and slowly wraps her ankle, his touch uncharacteristically light and soft for his usual taste, but purposeful, as to not aggravate her injury further. 

Jester almost can’t meet his gaze at all - something so simple, so utilitarian, so  _ medicinal _ for some reason just sends butterflies to her stomach, her heart doing flip-flops every time his clawed fingertips graze against her bare skin. It’s almost  _ shameful _ just how much of an effect his barest touch has on her, and some part of her, some deep,  _ deep _ buried part of her is just  _ screaming _ to tell her that this is all  _ wrong _ , and she shouldn’t derive such heady bliss from the most minimal and innocent of touch - but there’s something  _ about _ him, such a sheer  _ magnetism _ that radiates out from his person, such a sheer force of personality and…  _ tension _ charged in everything he does - and this buried part of her is _ wailing _ , just  _ wailing _ for her to get up and run away - but it’s strange… that urge seems so unreasonable, so uncalled for at this current moment -  _ No, no - I need to stay. If I want to survive, it’s best for the two of us to be together. I can message the rest of the Nein in the morning, when I have my spell slots back - yes, yes - I need to stay right here. Lucien doesn’t want to hurt me - he saved me. We’ll be safer together.  _

Lucien cuts off the last of the gauze, tucking the ends inwards towards the rest of the wrapped ankle. “ _ There we go _ .” He gives her his signature winning grin, evoking a light dusting of color on her cheeks as she shyly looks down slightly, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.  _ I’ve got roughly four minutes before this all goes South on me and the spell wears off - I need to get that axe  _ **_thoroughly_ ** _ away from her before things get violent once again.  _

Lucien rights himself, solidifying his plan of action. “Jester, dear - might I have your axe?” He asks so kindly, almost bating his full eyelashes in a pleading manner. 

Jester hesitates -  _ Why should I give him my axe? Why is he asking that of me? That makes no sense at all. _ And at that very thought, a strange, almost supernatural bolt of mental re-alignment courses through her system, causing her to shake her head slightly, evoke a mild headache and strain in her temples.  _ What am I thinking? No, no - this makes perfect sense - he knows what he’s doing. I can trust him. _ “ _ Okay. _ ” She says softly, her voice wavering slightly as she speaks. She retrieves her axe from its holster at her side, and hands the weapon over to Lucien, who quickly affixes the weapon to his own belt. 

Lucien promptly casts Produce Flame roughly 5 feet from where the lie on the ground, and almost frentically grabs his bed roll from his pack, and in trying to at least have a place for them to sleep pre-made before the spell runs out. Jester quickly realizes what he’s doing, and does the same, placing her bed roll next to his. “Bring it over here, dear,” He motions for her to move closer, “It’s going to be  _ very _ cold tonight. We’ll need to conserve body heat.” He states matter of factly, the implication still managing to rise a blush from Jester regardless. 

Jester is just about to move her pillow she pulled from the recesses of her haversack of holding next to his barely, pitifully functional and well-worn bedroll, when she feels  _ it _ \- this sudden, all-encompassing  **_snap_ ** in her mind, a violent rupturing of whatever magical tether and hold he cast onto her - and it all comes back to her in an instant, the rage, the hatred, and the almost  _ overwhelming _ violent urge to  _ make him pay _ for what he’s done, everything he’s put her through, everything he’s done to her friends -  _ wherever they are - _ just  _ everything _ ,  **_everything_ ** \- and for once in her life, she truly understands the  **_rage_ ** Yasha carries with her. Her vision tunnels, everything seeming dark and  _ red _ , and she  _ snarls _ , genuinely  **_snarls_ ** at him, at Lucien, this offensive imitation of her dearly departed friend. 

Lucien similarly feels it the moment his spell runs out, and he moves into a defensive stance from where he was on his knees over their (intended to be) shared little nest, his right hand moving to the hilt of one of his sheathed scimitars, his left moving upwards slightly towards her, like he’s attempting to tame a wild beast, his motions steady but  _ incredibly _ tense, readying himself in his weakened state for any aggressive actions on her part. “ _ Jester -”  _ He cautions, “- I know you’re  _ angry _ with me -” 

“ **_Angry?_ ** _ ” _ She spits out, “ _ Angry with you?  _ Oh, whatever could I have to be  _ angry _ with you over?” From her similar position on her knees, merely feet away from him, even through her fury, she eyes the point in his belt where her axe is haphazardly hooked through with a blazing intent. “ _ Tell me,  _ **_Lucien -_ ** _ why should I be  _ **_angry_ ** _ with you, huh? _ ” Her shoulders twitch slightly, feinting out for a moment, building up the courage needed to actually  _ take _ it from him, the glimmer of movement not lost on him, causing him to scootch backwards slightly on his heels. “Where should I even begin?  _ Tell me,  _ **_Lucien_ ** - _ where should I even  _ **_start_ ** _? _ ” 

“ **_Jester_ ** ,” He gravely warns, exhibiting great amounts of restraint in trying to keep a calm composure over himself and in this situation, “ _ we  _ **_need_ ** _ each other if we want to survive - we  _ **_cannot_ ** _ do this alone out here -  _ whatever you  _ feel _ towards me and my actions, we need to work  _ together _ -” 

Jester  _ pounces _ on him, tackling his body into the bedroll, restraining his lower half with the iron-like grip of her powerful thighs. Lucien panics for a moment, realizing just how severely he had underestimated her sheer  _ strength _ . Their hands battle with another, his hands instinctively reaching for her shoulders to try and force her to roll them over, but he’s met with  _ great _ resistance, as the two of them battle, attempting to grasp and restrain the other, before she completely shocks him by reaching directly for his belt, unbuckling it with surprising speed and force - and for a moment, where this a  _ very _ different scenario, he would find this all  _ very  _ enticing, and even so, he can’t help the arousal that courses through his system at the sight of Jester Lavorre unbuckling his belt like it’s her sole mission in life. Capitalizing on his momentary shock and stasis, Jester rids him of the belt carrying his swords and her axe, and  _ wrenches _ it from his person, her hands immediately going towards her axe. 

Seeing a moment of diverted attention, Lucien uses her preoccupation with his belt and her axe to place his free hands on her shoulders, pull her close to him, and roll their bodies over with all the force left in his body, switching their positions in an instant, pinning her beneath him, and moving to grab a hold of her wrists, her left hand still with axe in tow, and pins them against her head. 

For a moment, Lucien himself is  _ furious _ \- fucking  _ enflamed _ at the prospect of her trying this - but he knows that anger and urge to lash out at her will only work  _ against _ his cause, and that more than  _ anything _ , he  _ needs _ her to  _ calm down _ , and for there to be  _ civility  _ between the two of them -  _ At least until the morning.  _

The two stay there, faces so close together, their breath fogging against each other in the frigid night air that creeps in through the cave’s entrance, their bodies so pressed against one another. Jester’s hands tense in his grasp, struggling against his hold, which stands resolute against her struggle. Her tail  _ thrashes _ against the ground, unwilling to simply lie there placently and docile in his bruising grip. 

Lucien takes one more deep breath, before finally breaking the silence between them. “ _ I don’t  _ **_blame_ ** _ you for being angry with me. _ I’ve probably deserved it.” 

**_“Probably?”_ ** Jester challenges him, causing his brow to quirk in a mildly restrained expression of irritation at her barb, her fight still not lost yet, wildly attempting to buck against his restraint. 

_ “ _ **_Fine,_ ** ” He snarls, “ _ I’ve deserved it.  _ There, does that make you happy?” His tone is much more venomous than he would have liked, the momentary passion and anger getting the better of him for a moment. He shakes his head slightly, sighing, pausing, collecting his thoughts before he worsens the situation with his contemptuous tongue.

“...  _ I’m sorry _ .” He says much softer. Jester stops her struggle for a moment, genuinely shocked and slightly unbelieving of the words she just heard come out of his mouth. “...Truly… I never meant for things to come to blows quite like they did.” 

Jester  _ doesn’t _ know what to do.  _ He’s… he’s lying. He’s  _ **_lying_ ** _. He has to be. He’s manipulating you - it’s just another ploy. That’s all it is.  _ “...  _ And why should I believe you _ ?” Her voice comes out much quieter and unsure than she had intended, her strong front flickering for a moment underneath her. 

Lucien’s hands on her wrist tense for a moment, before ever so slightly releasing some of the force against this, his thumb brushing against her quivering pulse point. “ _ Because _ \- I got you  _ out _ . I  _ saved _ you from that slaughter.” He says with such a force of confidence in his words than Jester almost buys into it, believing his honeyed version of events. 

_ But… that  _ **_manipulative_ ** _ bastard _ . “ _ Saved me? _ ” Jester can feel angry tears biting at the corners of her eyes, the weight of Lucien’s familiar yet alien gaze almost too much to meet and match. “ **_Saved_ ** _ me? _ ” She almost wants to laugh, the whole situation so royally fucked that it’s almost comical. “ _ No _ . No, Lucien - you didn’t save  _ shit _ . You fucking  _ kidnapped _ me.” She spits out at him, flexing her hands still restrained in his grip. 

Lucien takes a deep,  _ shaky _ breath. “... I did what I  _ had  _ to… to ensure you didn’t  _ die _ . I was trying - I was  _ trying _ to keep you safe.” His tone gets increasingly more frustrated the further down the logical progression of his own rationalizations he has to go to justify and defend himself. “I’m  _ sorry _ you disapprove of my methods. I would have thought you would be  _ grateful _ for getting you out of that  _ bloodbath _ , but apparently  _ not _ .” He can’t help the defensive venom that seeps in through his version of an apology, his tone far more biting than he knows is helpful. 

“ **_Grateful?_ ** ” Jester raises her voice, jutting her chin out and raising her brows in a challenging manner. “ _ Grateful? _ You  _ fucking _ started it,  _ Lucien! _ It was of  _ your own making _ .” 

Lucien’s nostrils flare, anger right and properly welling up in him now, his once more relaxed hold on her now tensing and intensifying. “ _ You all _ took what was  _ mine _ . You have  _ no need _ of those Threshold Crests.  _ No. Need.  _ And yet you took it in  _ spite _ of it, in _ spite _ of  **_me_ ** \- you all seemingly have no  _ purpose _ here other than to obstruct my goals, for why I  _ still _ do not understand. But I will not  _ stop.  _ What we’re doing is too important. So I’m  _ sorry,  _ **_dear_ ** \- but you all have made it a point to go against me. I’m  _ sorry _ that you all met the  _ unfortunate _ fate of those who  _ try me _ . And I’m  _ sorry _ , that for whatever reason, I deemed you worthy, capable, and  _ good enough _ to not  _ die _ in the snow. I’m fucking  _ sorry _ I like you enough, for a reason I still can’t  _ fucking understand.” _

There’s a long pause, punctuated only by their shared, strained breaths, as they both stare the other down. 

But all Jester can see is Molly’s eyes, Molly’s face, Molly’s scowl - _He’s so_ ** _mean_** _, Molly was never_ ** _mean_** _, not like this - Molly would_ ** _never_** _do this to me. Molly would_ ** _never_** _raise his voice like this, why - … how can he have_ ** _ever_** _been a part of_ ** _Lucien_** _?_ Those tears that threatened to spill over previously made due on their threat, and begin to roll down her cheeks with reckless abandon, silently. From his position over her, Jester can see Lucien flinch slightly, wincing at the sight of her tears, his bruising grip on her slackening once more - and it’s only even _more_ _confusing_ and _frustrating_ to her - _Why do you wince at the tears_ ** _you_** _caused? What - do you_ ** _care_** _? Why would you? … And why can’t you care like_ ** _him_** _?_ Jester stares blankly into his piercing gaze, those blood red eyes that Jester _swears_ contain just the _faintest_ glimmer of… _something_ , something not born in malice and cruelty, but something softer, gentler - _Sympathy? Empathy? Why must you_ ** _look_** _at me like_ ** _that_** _?_

_ “Why… _ ” Jester whispers, her voice barely even there to begin with, yet nearly deafening to Lucien in the moment. “...  _ He was so kind… why… why must you be so mean?” _

He looks at her deeply, in her defeated state, her exhaustion overcoming her urge to fight physically against him, and her genuine confusion, want, and  _ grief _ that swim in her lavender irises - and for a moment, he feels genuine  _ remorse _ , remorse over his actions, over his restraining her, this regret so deeply uncharacteristic for him, and it only seeks to frustrate him  _ further _ \-  _ What in the Nine  _ **_Hells_ ** _ is it about you that gives you the  _ **_right_ ** _ to make me feel these things?  _ Overcome, he drops his grasp on her wrists, leaving his hands to simply lie limply next to hers, unable and  _ unwilling _ to hold onto her any longer. He does not move further, his hips and thighs still straddling hers, maintaining his position there, unwilling to take that further step to detangle their limbs, and  _ fully _ release his advantage.  **_Mean_ ** _ , huh?  _

“... _I’m sorry I’m not_ ** _him_**.” He breaks his eyes from hers, staring aimlessly at the fabric of the bedroll beside her head, finding himself strangely not strong enough to meet her helplessly imploring gaze, lest it make him _feel_ further. “But this… _fragment_ of my being is _gone_ \- that’s _all_ he was, just a **_fragment_** of _my_ soul - but I am whole again. I will not apologize for being complete and in control of my own body once again. I know you… _cared_ for _him_ , this _speck_ of _my_ soul - **_my_** _soul_ , Jester, _mine_ \- but _‘he’_ is _not_ coming back.” 

Jester  _ knows _ this. She  _ knows _ this. But that doesn’t make it  _ hurt _ any less. It’s like picking the scab off a nasty wound, releasing a whole new gout of  _ bleeding, aching _ , and  _ burning _ \- but it’s the truth, which makes it hurt even  _ more _ . And he’s  _ right _ here, Molly’s body is  _ right here _ , his eyes the same eyes he would gaze at her with, the same nose she would boop when he was being silly, the same lips she would spend too much time stealing wayward, fleeting glances at, fantasizing and daydreaming over, the same  _ goddamn _ face of a friend she  _ never _ got to say  _ goodbye _ to - and it’s too much,  _ too much _ , all at once and all encompassing - and her tears fall  _ harshly _ , stinging in the cold night blizzard air that funnels into the cave, yet feeling so hot and burning as they cloud her vision. “ _ But… he’s still - he’s still some part of you,” _ She softly pleads, “ _ a fragment of your soul…”  _ Jester reaches out with her freed hands, unable to help herself, her fingertips ghosting against his high cheekbones, finally touching the face of her dear friend, her Molly, nearly a year after his death -  _ Even if it’s not really him _ . “ _...  _ There  _ has _ to be some part of you that contains kindness. There  _ has _ to be some part of you that’s good.  _ Why can’t you… _ ” Her eyes trail to his lips, her hands cupping his face, drawn to the one thing should could never forget, even all this time later, the phantom haunting her dreams, the ghost of Molly’s never-given kiss, relegated to the prospects of fantasy, but  _ right here _ , in front of her, staring her right in the face,  _ his face, Molly’s face, so close and  _ **_right here_ ** \- 

Lucien sees where her eyes flit down towards, and, surprising even himself, he feels his breath hitch at the mere thought of it, the implication behind her gaze - and for a moment, he finds himself momentarily paralyzed at the mere thought - he finds himself unable to act, unable to move, brought down by the _thought_ of what her lips must _feel_ like against his own - and he finds himself so _shocked_ at the _intensity_ of his sheer **_want_** \- _But she doesn’t want_ ** _me_** _\- she wants_ ** _him_** _-_ and that want _turns_ , souring, and he finds himself _wanting_ her wanting **_him_** \- _Not that_ ** _fucking_** **_imposter_**. Suddenly, her touch feels _wrong_ , like he’s _stealing_ something, stealing something not for _him -_ it sends a chill up his own spine - and, for once, he feels true _remorse_ for stealing from the dead. _I can’t, I fucking can’t - it’s not for me, not for_ ** _fucking_** _me - and_ ** _fuck,_** _do I want it to be - she doesn’t even_ ** _know_** _what she_ ** _does._** He pulls back from her, back from the touch he finds himself craving _too_ much for his own taste, and retreats from her form, relinquishing her from his clutches, and getting up from the bedroll entirely, walking away from her, straight to the cave wall, bracing his arm against the cave wall, and attempting _desperately_ and failing _miserably_ to clear his own spiraling thoughts, breathing heavily into his own balled fist. 

  
Jester’s hand chases him as he leaves, fruitlessly, the thing she’s wanted so deeply for so long simply _walking away_ from her outright, leaving her alone on the bedroll, rejected - _He… he doesn’t… he can’t…_ ** _no. He can’t. He’s_** ** _not_** ** _Molly_**. **_He’s not Molly._** _MollyMollyMollyMollyMolly -_ Jester is bombarded by the images of him, of the man she so _recklessly_ got attached to, this ghost of a man who should have never existed to begin with, but lived so brightly, so boldly, so radiantly, so _beautifully_ \- and her tears only fall harder, her shoulder shaking as she attempts to restrain the _urge_ to just _wail_ here on _Lucien’s_ bedroll. All that hurt, that raw, guttural _grief_ that she’s been trying so _desperately_ to keep reigned in all this time - she sees Lucien braced against the wall, vulnerable, unexpecting - and her axe simply lying on the floor, unclaimed - and all that hurt seems to narrow, coalescing, focusing on this _fucking_ ** _imposter_** laying claim to her dear Molly’s body, this absolute _asshole_ , this _disgrace_ to Molly’s memory - and silently, deftly and slowly - _Jester picks up her axe_. 


End file.
